Truancy City

by Isamu Fukui

  “I’m not crazy!” Max shouted, turning his head. Then his jaw dropped. “Impossible.”

  The albino looked down at him calmly. “What is?”

  “You,” Max whispered, awestruck. “It’s really you. You’re real after all. They thought I was nuts. They never trusted me again. They even made me a mechanic, just to get rid of me.”

  The albino removed her foot and crouched down. “Have we met before?”

  “You don’t remember?” Max laughed. “I’ll never forget it. It was just after we got the Truancy started. I was standing watch in an alley, spotted a vagrant running away. I gave chase, and then the next thing I knew…” Max brought his fist to his forehead to indicate where the chain had hit.

  The nameless girl’s eyes flickered with remembrance, and she reached out to pat Max on the head.

  “You’re right,” she said. “You’re not crazy. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve been waiting to hear that for four years,” Max sighed. Then he let out a bark of laughter. “But it’s over now anyway, isn’t it? The war, the Truancy, Zyid’s dream. It’s all over. How many were there when it started? How many are left? I don’t even remember.” He mimed a gun firing at his temple. “Whatever it is, there’ll be one less pretty soon.”

  “We don’t shoot all our prisoners, it’s too messy,” Sepp said, still attached to the pillar. “Tell you what; I’ll overlook the part where you bopped me on the head, but you’ll probably do time for the whole ‘trying to blow everyone up’ thing.”

  “Bah.” Max looked exhausted but relieved, as though a massive weight had just been lifted off him. He rolled over and lay spread-eagled on the ground, moving only when Zen tentatively poked him in the side.

  “Are you all right?” the albino asked, turning to examine Sepp. She reached out with one hand, almost but not quite touching his bloodied scalp. “That’s a bad head wound. I’ll go fetch help.”

  “Nah, I’m fine,” Sepp protested. “I can walk, just get this stuff off me. There’s a knife in my belt.”

  The nameless girl hesitated, then she drew the knife out and quickly cut Sepp free of the duct tape. She helped him up as he winced from his injury.

  “Thank you, milady,” Sepp said.

  The albino looked at him sharply. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me that.”

  Sepp blinked, then shrugged. “Sure thing, boss. I’m just glad you were here. It could’ve been a real mess.”

  “It still might be,” the albino warned as Sepp handcuffed Max. “I’d worry about your friend Cross, if I were you. If they even had spies within the mechanics, imagine how many are out there with him.”

  * * *

  Cross ignored the explosions and the screams around him.

  Every bit of focus the Student Militia’s leader could muster was devoted to the bottles and cans lying in the street that might or might not be deadly bombs. The Militia had long known how creative the Truancy could be in setting their traps, yet never had Cross seen so many, or in such lethal variety. He ducked as a student nearby was blown away by a mine disguised as a car tire.

  What bothered Cross the most was that despite the danger he was in, despite the thrill he should be feeling, none of it was having its usual therapeutic effect. Doubt nagged at his conscience as he watched another student fall to shrapnel from a bomb. He pressed forward.

  The mines were beginning to thin, and Cross was just beginning to fall back into a rhythm, when a voice came on the radio and fresh hell broke loose.

  “This is Takan, leader of the Truancy. All sleeper agents, activate now!”

  Without warning, students all around turned their weapons on their hapless comrades. Under the bright moonlight Cross watched as the silhouettes of his fellow students crumpled and fell like puppets whose strings had been cut. One silhouette, still standing, turned and took aim at Cross. Instinctively, Cross fired first—without really knowing if it was a friend or a foe.

  Now all students were firing, both at their attackers and at one another. Total chaos reigned. The heat made it hard to think. There was a pounding in Cross’ head. His headache had returned with a vengeance. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He had come here in search of purpose, but there was none to be found on this battlefield.

  Cross almost found himself radioing for Sepp and Floe before he caught himself. Unfamiliar faces swam all around him, none of which could be trusted. Both enemy and ally wore the same uniform now. What had started as a battle between the Truancy and the Student Militia had turned into a mad free-for-all.

  A student hiding behind a car began firing in Cross’ direction. Cross dived for the cover of an alley, took a deep breath, then leapt out, aiming for a paint can near the other student. The disguised bomb exploded, sending the student flying and triggering a chain reaction of other mines and explosives. The street filled with flames and shrieks. There had to have been allies caught in that blast, but Cross hadn’t meant to do that, he hadn’t meant any of this—

  Gunshots flew at the alley, a bullet clipping Cross’ shoulder. Like clockwork, he raised his rifle. Cross no longer knew who his enemies were, and suddenly he didn’t care. He began to fire, indiscriminate with his targets. Mechanically he proceeded through the streets and dark shapes fell before him. Some wore street clothes, but most wore blue uniforms like his own. Cross slammed clip after clip into his rifle.

  Cross was vaguely aware of shouts and screams. Some sounded like pleas. He ignored them all. A fog had fallen upon his thoughts, and he knew the only way to survive was to attack, attack everything before it attacked him.

  As he paused to reload once more, a hand flew at his head. Cross ducked and seized the oncoming arm, but before he could break it, a knee slammed into his stomach. Confused, Cross found himself being thrown forcefully to the ground. His gun slid from his grasp as he was dragged into a nearby alley.

  Cross slowly began to awaken from his murderous stupor, and found himself limp with shock as he realized what had happened. He could barely twitch as his captor sat him up against the wall. Completely numb, even to the idea of his own death, Cross looked up. Then his eyes widened.

  It was Floe, a cold expression on her face as she held a pistol to his forehead.

  Terror twisted in Cross’ gut. It was not death he feared, but true betrayal. A thousand thoughts ran through his head. Why was Floe here? Had he pushed her too far? Was she punishing him for what he had just done? Had she really been working for the Truancy all along? Had everything been a lie?

  Out of the corner of his eye, Cross saw a Truant enter the mouth of the alley. Without even looking, Floe moved her pistol and shot the boy down. Stunned, Cross could only stare up at her in confusion. She crouched down to Cross’ level, saying nothing, her features betraying nothing.

  Cross swallowed. He had to say something. What could he say?

  “Floe … I’m … I…”

  Floe slapped him hard across the face. Cross saw the blow coming and did nothing to stop it. The impact stung in more ways than one.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Floe said. “I know.”

  An explosive barrel at the mouth of the alley went off, and Floe tackled Cross, shielding him from the force of the blast. He lay limp under her, not wanting to be saved, not deserving to be saved. The enormity of what he’d done finally dawned on him, and he could feel something break inside.

  For many minutes Cross lay there, still as a corpse, only murmuring once to tell Floe that yes, he was all right—a lie, and both of them knew it.

  The explosions slowly grew less and less frequent as the Truancy’s traps were exhausted. The Militia had been decimated and countless numbers of them had vanished with the Truants. Cross stared up at the sky as helicopters roared overhead, blotting out the moon. Armored vehicles rumbled past the alley as Government soldiers swarmed into the district, walking over the bodies of the students.

  The battle was over. The Truancy had been put down. Yet Cross could fin
d no joy in any of that, not after what it had cost. And so he just lay there in Floe’s arms, feeling like one of the motionless dead himself.

  * * *

  The last red district switched colors, turning the entire screen into one solid mass of green. In less than sixteen hours the Government had secured control of the entire City. Iris smiled and leaned back in her chair.

  “I win.”

  Her plan had been a complete success. Not only had it succeeded in crushing the Truancy with minimal Government casualties, but using the Student Militia had forced the Truancy to reveal their spies and saboteurs. Now that the chaff had been separated, Iris believed that most of the remaining Student Militia could be counted on to comply with her future plans.

  Of course, there were probably still some undercover Truants who had not acted for one reason or another—and even students who, given privileges by the Mayor, might protest as the Government reasserted its authority. Things never did go a hundred percent smoothly. But she was ready for that.

  Iris smiled as she stood and began walking towards her waiting staff officers. The mere fact that she had been proven correct about the Militia would lend her the credibility and justification she needed to take the next steps towards restoring the Education City. Both the students and the Truants had played their parts perfectly in the last act of their little drama.

  “General, the higher-ups are requesting an update,” one of the officers said.

  “Send them the latest. Detail our successful reacquisition of the City, and mention that the new body armor performed well,” Iris said. “Also inform them that I will begin implementing a program immediately to eliminate any dissidence and prove that the philosophy of the City can be salvaged. It should take no more than a few months to see results. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The officer saluted and then ran off to relay the message. Iris turned to the others.

  “Now that all resistance has been neutralized, our primary objectives must be located,” she said. “I want search parties deployed all over the City. Go from district to district. Leave no brick unturned. Do whatever you must.”

  * * *

  In one of the Truancy’s escape passages, an abandoned construction tunnel leading out of the district, Takan and Aaron leaned against the dusty walls, sharing a bottle of beer. The battle was long over, the last of the explosions having faded half an hour ago. Most of the Truants had already made it out one way or another. Still, Takan and Aaron waited, drinking in silence as they waited for the Government alert to die down.

  “So,” Aaron said, passing the bottle to Takan. “This is really it, huh.”

  “You’re taking it well.” Takan took a sip. “Four years of fighting this war, coming to the very edge of victory … and all of a sudden it’s over. You were one of the founding members of the Truancy, weren’t you Aaron?”

  Aaron scratched his head sheepishly.

  “I think I might be the only one left, actually,” he said, ticking names off on his fingers. “Ken was shot. Amal died early. Max went crazy. Gabriel got killed by that Edward bastard. Then we lost Zyid himself. I’m glad I was stuck in the workshop rather than out on the battlefield.”

  “Well, you were there at the beginning of the Truancy,” Takan said, passing the bottle back. “I guess it’s fitting that you’re here to see its end.”

  “Nah, this isn’t the end.” Aaron chuckled and took a gulp. “We’re just taking a break.”

  Takan smiled at that. “At least we caused enough trouble to get the Mayor unseated. I’m just worried about what comes next.”

  “Hey, if these new Government guys turn out to be as bad, you know my number,” Aaron said. “If the phones ever get back up, call us back together. We’ll sort them out.”

  Takan shook his head. “The schools are all closed. They’ll never get us back in there. In that sense, we’ve actually won. But we’ve also lost what we were fighting against. Without a cause to drive us, we’re just … kids.”

  “Nah,” Aaron said, finishing off the bottle and tossing it aside. “We’re past that by now. Takan, it was an honor to fight with the Truancy. I’d do it again anytime.”

  With that, Aaron straightened up. Takan understood that he was going. One of the first to join, now one of the last to leave. As Aaron began to walk away down the dark tunnel, Takan voiced the question that he had been silently asking himself.

  “Where will you go?”

  Aaron paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then he shrugged.

  “Back home, I guess. If it’s still there,” Aaron said. “I wonder what my parents will have to say when I show up after all these years. What about you?”

  At Aaron’s mention of home, Takan winced at a surge of bittersweet memories. The silence in the tunnel stretched on for several seconds. Then Takan spoke.

  “Maybe I’ll do the same.”

  13

  WHAT ALL LEADERS ARE

  The sun was slowly rising over District 1, sending a pink and orange glow through the dirty hospital windows. Lying on the sickbed of his private ward, Cross stared at his reflection in the glass, his gaze blank and unmoving.

  Cross wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had been brought from the battlefield. He vaguely remembered doctors examining him, and his arm was still bandaged where they had injected the anesthetic. It felt like a long time ago. He was physically in fine shape, he had been told, but would need some time to recover from the shock.

  Cross had said nothing in response.

  At one point Cross remembered being wheeled into a room full of other patients. His few waking moments had been haunted by their cries. They were the wounded, the students who had followed Cross blindly into the trap.

  Besides the injured there were the traitors, the ones Cross had been warned about but had ignored—in his mind they were everywhere, erasing whatever confidence he had ever had in the Student Militia.

  The sun shifted outside and Cross blinked. For a moment it had looked like his reflection had no face. A trick of the light.

  The door to the ward opened. A single set of footsteps entered. The door shut again, followed by silence. Cross ignored it. He was in no mood to talk.

  “I apologize for such an early morning intrusion, Cross,” a familiar voice said. “I know you’re not asleep—if you squeezed your eyes shut any tighter I could swear you’d been teargassed.”

  Cross grimaced. There were many people he did not want to see at the moment, but General Iris was near the top of that list.

  “You are acting childish,” Iris said. “The Truancy is routed and order has been restored to the City. You should be pleased.”

  Cross said nothing. The victory, if it could even be called that, was hollow. Fighting had been his only purpose, and now Cross found no satisfaction even in that. The sense of pointlessness was so overwhelming that he felt lost in its depths. With no motivation to do otherwise, he continued to lie there, unresponsive.

  That seemed just fine with the General.

  “You will be discharged from the hospital today,” she informed him. “There isn’t enough space to go around, and we’ve kept you at the expense of other patients with more serious injuries.”

  Cross nodded mechanically.

  “As you might have guessed, we have assumed complete control over this City.” Iris placed a hand on her hip. “This has been a resounding military success, and you played your part in it. You have my thanks.”

  Cross made a small grunt of acknowledgment.

  “However, there is still a lot of work to be done before we can say that peace has been established. I was hoping to discuss that with you now, Cross.”

  Another grunt. It seemed to satisfy the General.

  “You must have noticed that the Truancy managed to avoid extermination,” Iris said dryly. “Their members are now hiding among the general populace and to put the problem plainly, we have no way of sorting the good from the bad. These Truants repre
sent a continuing threat—they have tasted anarchy, liked it, and are now accustomed to employing violence to get what they want.”

  Cross was barely listening by now. He found it very hard to give a damn about anything that Iris was saying. The words were like buzzing in his ears.

  “Your Student Militia also poses the same problem,” Iris continued. “You saw for yourself that my initial concerns were justified. Your Militia has been infiltrated at every level by the Truancy, and there is no telling how many spies yet remain.”

  Cross turned away from the window. The sun had risen high enough to shine directly into his eyes.

  “The fact of the matter is that we cannot simply trust the youth of this City to transition back to an orderly society without some assistance.” Iris smiled thinly. “In order to facilitate this, I will disband the Student Militia and have every child go through reeducation camps that are currently being built all over the City.”

  Cross nodded automatically. Then the full meaning of Iris’ words finally registered. He sat up.

  “What do you mean by ‘reeducation?’”

  “It’s nothing very bad, Cross.” Iris turned to look out the window and at the dawn. “Just think of it as summer camp.”

  Cross creased his brow. Something about this whole proposition struck him as very wrong. Recalling Floe’s warnings, Cross realized that this woman was not to be trusted.

  “General, I don’t think it’s fair for the Student Militia to be included in this,” Cross said slowly. “We have never defied authority, we did everything that—”

  “That is why you must now set an example for everyone else,” Iris interrupted. “Do you know what the true purpose of this City was, Cross?”

  Cross frowned. He did know. Edward had explained it to him a long time ago, in a dark dormitory as hopeless as his whole life seemed now.

  “To control people.”

  Iris continued staring out the glass. The sun had freed itself from the horizon, its light now pale and yellow, the skies a lovely blue.

  “Smart boy. Well informed. I’d ask where you heard that, but it’s irrelevant now.” Iris turned to look at Cross again. “You’re exactly right. Originally it was a very crude system, with all sorts of primitive punishments. Over time, and largely to the late Mayor’s credit, it became more sophisticated and subtle. And yet it was still incomplete.”